Running Through the Screen Door of Discretion
by knopecommaleslie
Summary: Santana and Brittany meet in middle school and quickly become best friends. NOTE: There's a lot of cheerleading in the first couple of chapters. I love cheerleading. If you don't, hang in there! If I haven't done a good job explaining something cheer-related, let me know. Will grow into M rating. Title is from Dar Williams' song Iowa. Which you should all hear.
1. Chapter 1

Santana had transferred to Harrison Middle School at the start of sixth grade, so by the time cheerleading tryouts rolled around the following September, she knew most of the girls who showed up. She wouldn't have called most of them her friends – only Quinn Fabray, as snarky as she was and a lot meaner. Maybe also Brittany Pierce, a girl who was usually quiet but laugh-out-loud hilarious when she did talk, and who didn't seem to have any enemies at all.

She and Brittany were friendly – they sat near one another at lunch sometimes, laughed together in P.E., that sort of thing. But then again, Brittany did those things with anyone and everyone. She was the polar opposite of Quinn, who saw everyone as a potential threat, and almost as much of a contrast to Santana herself, whose jeering was quieter, but just as caustic. Santana was still the new girl, after all, and it _would_ be nice to have more than one friend. So she toned down the sarcasm when others could hear.

So Santana was glad, but not at all surprised (she knew from P.E. that Brittany had enviable doses of both athleticism and grace) to see Brittany stretching on the floor in the lobby when she arrived to the first day of cheerleading tryouts. Quinn hadn't made it out of the locker room yet – despite Santana's teasing that this was a sports team, not America's Next Top Model, she'd insisted on completely re-applying her makeup – so after Santana plunked her ratty duffel bag near the wall, she walked over to Brittany and sat down next to her amiable classmate.

"Hey, Santana! I didn't know you were gonna try out."

"Yeah, well. I stink at volleyball and Quinn's really into cheering, so I thought I could try. I've never done it before, though." She paused. "Have you?"

"No, not really. But I've been dancing since I was like three and it seems like there's lots of dancing so I thought it would be fun. Plus, no one from this school goes to my dance studio, so it'd be nice to do something with friends, y'know."

"Yeah." Santana knew, more than she let on. Instead of saying so (she didn't advertise her lack of friends), she just watched as Brittany extended her lean body down over one leg, until she was lying flat with her face on her knee. Looking around at the other girls who were beginning to stretch out, Santana realized that many of them had no trouble getting into a split, or folding (unnaturally, she thought) in half like Brittany was doing.

Santana could barely touch her toes. For the first time, she started to worry about this tryout. She was great at school and rarely had to study for a test (not something she advertised, either), and pretty decent at most other things, so she'd kind of assumed that making the team would be no problem. Now, sizing up the competition, she wasn't so sure. Still straining to coax her body into a non-lame looking stretch, she looked at Brittany again. "I'm jealous. You're so flexible. I hope I can get the jumps." It was as close to the truth as she could manage.

"Oh, you will." Brittany sat up out of her stretch to look at Santana with a curious smile. "You're good at everything," she added brightly and a little puzzled, as if reminding a confused Santana of a well-known fact. This caught Santana off-guard. Yes, she would admit, this was what she secretly thought of herself. But to have someone else think it, and to say it – she blushed and started to let out a strained little laugh while reaching for her toes again – but Brittany was still talking.

" – and if you want, you can come over to my house to practice before Friday."

Santana smiled eagerly before she could remind herself to be cool. "Really? Oh – okay." She was still trying to push past her excitement to think how to continue (she hadn't been invited to anyone's house but Quinn's since she moved!) when Quinn walked over at last, ponytail freshly sprayed, lip gloss smoothed in a perfect sheen, and sat between Santana and Brittany. Two women who Santana assumed were the coaches followed almost immediately, so Santana only had time to smile across Quinn and mouth "Thanks." Brittany smiled radiantly back before turning to listen to the coaches.

VVV

The head coach, Jenny, was about 24 or 25 years old. The high, tight ponytail of curly auburn hair and her muscular arms made it easy to believe that she had been the star of the Cheerios at McKinley High just a few years before. Now she taught kindergarten at a nearby elementary school, but it was clear she'd never left cheering behind. Even her "Hello, girls!" had a snappy, slightly-too-loud quality to it.

The assistant coach, Tasha, was much younger, just a sophomore at McKinley who was helping coach after an injury put her off the Cheerios. Santana knew all this from Quinn's obsessive yammering – Quinn went to all the high school games and observed the social patterns there like she was already a part of them – but she tried to look interested, anyway, to make a good impression (and also not seem like a stalker). Plus, it wasn't hard to listen to these two. They both seemed nice enough, excited about coaching a bunch of newbie middle schoolers, and they were both pretty. (It was okay for Santana to think they were pretty; she and Quinn talked about what older girls were pretty all the time.)

After the introductions came the part Santana was actually waiting to hear: what tryouts would be like. Jenny told them: Over the next four days, they'd learn one long floor cheer, two chants (Santana knew from browsing Quinn's ever-present _American Cheerleader _magazines that those were the short ones you did from the sidelines), and a dance, all of which they'd perform in groups for judges on Friday. In addition, they would be practicing stunting (again, Thank you _American Cheerleader_, thought Santana, who would might not otherwise have known "stunting" to be cheer-speak for building human pyramids) and jumping throughout the week. Anyone who could tumble – from cartwheels up to backflips – could do so for extra points, but it wasn't required. Finally, all week long, they should show that they could get along with the other girls and follow coaches' directions. At this, Santana glanced at Quinn. Girl'd have to keep her mouth shut for once.

Jenny finished by saying (cheering): "You might be new at this, but you're still going to do it well, and we're going to have the best squad in the conference this year! C'mon!"

High expectations were a challenge Santana enjoyed rising to meet. She was pumped as they launched into team stretching then tackled the dance, since Jenny said that would probably be the toughest thing for most of them. Santana kept up, but barely, trying to stuff all the knowledge in her head so she could practice it and have it by tomorrow. (This tryouts business was really exposing her competitive side.) Next came jumps, three of them, which confirmed that Santana needed to work on her flexibility like whoa.

Finally Tasha announced that it was time to move on to the thing that everyone was anticipating most: stunts. The girls responded with cheers of glee and a few groans.

Santana was scrawny and short, so she was tagged as a flyer (or as Quinn called it, top of the pyramid), as was Quinn. Brittany, taller and stronger, was told to try lifting as a base. Quinn was thrilled to be "on top," but Santana thought she might have been happier on the ground, or at least in a group with Brittany or Quinn. She didn't say so though, remembering what Jenny had said about being a team player, and took her spot between eighth graders Sarah and Allie. She caught on pretty quickly to the simple, first-try stunts, willing her body to remember all the different ways she learned to keep her balance and keep the stunt solid.

As the day ended, Brittany skipped over to Santana, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead from the effort of the final sit-ups and pushups. "You were a great flyer, Santana. You don't need it, but if you still wanna come over Thursday night, remember to ask your mom." Santana dropped her eyes before she could catch herself; she must be tired from tryouts. Brittany noticed and belatedly continued her sentence, "or your dad–"

"Thanks." Santana cut her off; she knew it was best to end the guardian guessing game ASAP. "I'll talk to my grandma, I'm staying with her this week." She would wait to tell Brittany that she stayed at her Abuela's a lot of weeks, and why. For now, she was exhausted, ready for a hot bath, and in need of some solo practice on that dance. She headed for the door, grateful to see Abuela's car already waiting in the parking lot, so she just waved to her friends – plural now; she was sure of Brittany – before collapsing into the passenger seat.

VVV

The next morning. Pain. Physical pain like she'd never known. Santana was barely able to haul herself out of bed and to the yellow Formica table in her Abuela's kitchen for breakfast.

"Morning, mija."

"Mornnnumph." Santana plunked her aching body into a chair and laid her forehead on the table with a thump.

"Wow. I can see that this new activity is just doing wonders for your attitude. Are you okay?" Abuela had a way of talking to Santana that was equal parts good-natured sarcasm and kindness that made Santana know she was loved, but didn't make her want to shut down.

"Yeah, just sore, like, in places I didn't know I had muscles."

Abuela grinned, and said softly, "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't want my beautiful girl to get hurt."

Santana straightened up. The last thing she wanted was to be forbidden to cheer because she was too fragile or some shit. "Yes! I am sure. I'm just, out of shape. I'll get better." She smiled to prove how okay she was, and Abuela laughed.

"Okay, mija, I just want you to be happy. You know that, I hope." Santana smiled. She loved that her grandmother called her by the same name as her mother: "mija," as if Santana were her daughter as well.

"Si, Abuela." Santana knew that responding in Spanish, even a short sentence, was a surefire way to get what she wanted. Abuela knew that Santana knew this, so she smiled and shook her head at their game as Santana wolfed down her cereal.

At school that day, Santana was thankful to have Quinn and Brittany to commiserate with; it seemed even in-shape Brittany was sore from the new challenge of stunting. The three of them sat together at lunch, trading shoulder rubs then going through the dance motions in their seats. Santana and Quinn had both forgotten chunks of the choreography, but Brittany seemed to have absorbed it like a sponge, and she set them straight on the more complicated 8-counts.

Brittany invited Quinn to join the sleepover on Thursday, which _shouldn't _have bothered Santana, but did, though she couldn't quite name why. When Quinn said she'd come over, but needed her "beauty rest" in her own bed the night before "the most important day of the year," Santana rolled her eyes and realized that she hadn't been angry at Brittany for asking so much as at Quinn for accepting. It was like, Santana did everything with Quinn and she was grateful to her best friend for including her in stuff, but she wanted to be her own person, too. She didn't always want to be the second half of QuinnandSantana. She also didn't want cheerful, optimistic Brittany to think Santana was as negative as Quinn. Now that Brittany had shown an interest in being actual friends with Santana, Santana was almost more determined to make the friendship happen than she was to become a cheerleader.

VVV

As the week went by, she became more confident in her ability to do both. Brittany seemed to skate over Quinn's more caustic remarks, and Santana found that being around Brittany actually quieted her own bitchy inner (and outer) voices a little.

The actual cheering was still tough, but fun. Santana had the dance steps down, and just needed to polish them. The chants were laughably simple – "Get the ball back, Cats, get the ball back, yeah!" Her competitive mind noted with astonishment that a few girls actually had trouble keeping the simple clap-and-stomp rhythm. Flying was becoming less scary but no less challenging, and that same competitive mind kept score of the number of times she fell out of stunts and found it to be a lot more than Quinn or eighth-graders Meghan and Ada.

Still, by the end of the final pre-tryouts practice on Thursday, Santana had stuck the chin-height elevator stunt five times in a row with minimal wobbling, leading Tasha to tell her she would get her liberty soon. In response to a couple of confused looks, Tasha explained that was when you stood on one leg in the stunt, with your other one tucked into your knee, kind of like a flamingo. Santana thought, Damn, I just figured out how to get up there on both legs, and now she wants me to just use one of them? before she realized with a grin: practice was almost over for today; "soon" would have to mean "after you make the team."

She headed to the locker room to find Quinn adjusting her ponytail and Brittany pulling a pair of track pants over her shorts. Despite her exhaustion, Santana was beaming as the three of them left together and piled into Brittany's mom's minivan. Brittany's mother, who introduced herself as Marian, proved as warm and good-natured as her oldest child. She and Brittany exchanged a multi-part handshake when Brittany told her how well tryouts had gone, and when she wasn't talking to the girls, she sang along with all the songs on the radio.

The family resemblance continued with Brittany's house – large, bright yellow with blue shutters, and literally open (the front door was ajar) – and her two blonde brothers who rushed outside to greet their mother. Brittany introduced them as Eric and David, though Santana didn't catch which was which. When her mother herded the boys in to help with dinner, Santana automatically asked what she could do to help.

Mrs. Pierce smiled at her. "Thank you Santana, that is so nice. But I hear you girls have some practicing to do. You have fun; I'll call you when spaghetti's ready, about half an hour."

They decided to stay outside, kicking off their tennis shoes to walk their sore feet through the cooling grass. Brittany led them toward the backyard, breaking into a run-turned-back-handspring that seemed to be just for the joy of it. Santana followed suit and turned her humble but solid cartwheel. Quinn hesitated, but brought up the rear with a neat little round-off.

They practiced the dance together twice, then decided to critique each other from the swing set. After Santana finished her solo performance, Brittany spoke up in an exaggerated British accent: "Maaaahvelous, simply maaaaahvelous, Santana. But – ah – could we have a little mooore of that goooorgeous smile?" When Brittany got up to dance, Santana played along, shouting, "Bravo! Bravo! I do say that was delightfully sharp, Lady Brittany!" Quinn rolled her eyes, but said with a weak but present accent, "Indeed."

They'd planned on practicing their jumps afterward – that was, after all, the reason Brittany had invited Santana over to begin with – but found they could barely motivate themselves off the swing set. So, plan amended. They headed in to dinner and resolved to just get some rest. After they devoured plates of spaghetti and salad (Brittany pointed out that her mom made her very own sauce from a family recipe), Quinn's mother arrived to pick her up. They said their goodbyes, then Brittany grabbed Santana's duffel bag with one hand and her wrist with the other and led her upstairs.

"So, this is my room. I like it 'cause it's just mine, the boys share, but I don't like the color." She wrinkled her nose at the pale pink walls. "I picked it when I was a little kid."

"It's not awful," Santana assured her. "Plus, you have enough of it covered up." Brittany had posters on every wall. Two more on the ceiling intermingled with stick-on glow in the dark stars like modern-day constellations. Santana noted the variety – U.S. Olympic gymnastics team action shots, a Grease movie poster, several unfolded inserts from CDs. A large bulletin board that hung over Brittany's messy desk held a cluster of blue and red prize ribbons, Santana assumed from dance, and photos of Brittany and her family.

"My bed's getting a little small, too, but I promise it's comfy. Or you can sleep on the couch. It's a pull-out, but it's too springy-poky I think."

"Nah, we'll fit, right? If that's okay with you. I still have my old twin bed too," Santana assured her.

Santana accepted Brittany's offer to shower first, relishing the hot water pounding on her tender back and arm muscles. After she'd been in there as long as she thought was acceptable – they were a big family; she shouldn't use all the hot water on her first stay – she padded back to Brittany's room wrapped in the colorful oversize beach towel Brittany had supplied. (She checked in the steamy mirror and assured herself it was large enough that she didn't need to feel self-conscious wearing just the towel out of the bathroom.)

While Brittany took her turn, Santana put on her cotton sleep shorts and a tank top then took a closer look at the photos and memorabilia all over her new friend's room. One group of photos which all seemed to be from the same beach vacation elicited a pang of envy. Brittany with the youngest brother on her shoulders. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce standing in the waves together. All three siblings building a sandcastle together. The Pierces were like a sitcom family. Santana waited for the laugh track to kick in.

It was finally starting to cool down outside, and the breeze from the open window had Santana almost cold, so she helped herself into Brittany's twin bed. Beneath the almost-threadbare quilt (pastel-printed squares that matched the walls) she found purple t-shirt sheets, soft and inviting. She was sitting up in bed letting her hair air dry when Brittany re-entered the room, also, Santana noted, wearing just a towel, but a much smaller one than Santana had used. When Brittany dropped the towel to the floor to wiggle into her own pajamas, Santana averted her eyes (to the Grease poster – what was the name of the woman who played Rizzo again?), but Brittany didn't seem to notice or care whether Santana was looking.

"I'm so tired!" Brittany said, somehow still cheery. "Do you mind if we just go on to sleep tonight? We can stay up and play Nintendo or something next time."

Santana smiled a little at "Nintendo;" bigger at "next time."

"Sure," she said, scooting further toward the wall to make room. Brittany flipped off the lights and bounded onto the bed like a lion cub, giggling when Santana the sudden dip and bounce in the mattress made Santana squeal. She burrowed into the covers like a much smaller kitten, laying her damp head on the one pillow right next to Santana's, and Santana marveled at the familiarity this girl showed with someone staying over for the first time. She wondered half-consciously if Brittany was like this with everyone or if she might be special. Either way, it suddenly felt important to tell her friend how much she was enjoying being here, so -  
"Thanks so much for inviting me to sleep over, and for hanging out this week. It – it means a lot to me," she spoke to the ceiling. (One of the reasons Santana loved sleepovers was that she'd noticed it was easier to talk – about anything – in the dark. Something about the lack of eye contact or even of body language let the words come more freely.)

"No, thank _you_," Brittany replied emphatically, turning to face Santana. "It's been forever since I had a friend sleep over. I'm glad you're here, and I'm glad _you're_ here." Santana grinned, both at the sentiment and at the wordplay. But wait –

"You're friends with everyone, though. I'd have thought you have people over all the time."

"Hm." Brittany seemed to be considering what Santana had said as all-new information. "I guess I _do_ have lots of okay friends. But not really any like, good friends. No best friend. With dance, I guess…" she trailed off sleepily.

Santana searched awkwardly for the next thing to say. She didn't really want to bring up her own absent best friend, so instead she said, "I wish I had more good friends, too. And, hey, no pressure, but I'll come over anytime. I love Nintendo." The last part was a big admission on her part. Quinn thought Nintendo was lame and also just for boys.

"Good friends?" asked Brittany. Santana could picture the smile that colored the words. (How was it she could already picture this girl's smile? Maybe they were better friends than she thought.)

"Good friends." The confirmation earned her a hug from Brittany. She squeezed back once, then again when Brittany didn't move back to her side of the bed, but whispered, "P.S.," (as if their verbal heart-to-heart had instead taken place via pen-pal letters) "We're both gonna kill it at tryouts tomorrow." Then Brittany rolled back over, and in an instant both were asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When the clock radio in Brittany's room did go off (both beeping and blasting the local top 40 radio station at full volume), both girls awoke with a start, albeit one a little more cheerful than the other. Brittany bounced out of bed on beat with the Beyoncé song that was blaring, Santana swore, as if she were launching into a dance routine. Santana rolled over with 100% less coordination and enthusiasm, but hey, she was up. She dragged her feet toward the bathroom as Brittany bopped around her room tucking things into her backpack.

When Santana got back, teeth brushed and face washed, hair still a little crazy from sleeping on it damp, Brittany was already dressed in jeans and a royal blue shirt – they'd agreed to wear school colors all day to get pumped for tryouts. Santana rustled through her own bag to find her own nearly identical outfit, and wriggled into her bra facing the wall. She pulled on jeans – hers had a rip over the knee that she loved because it hadn't been there when she'd bought them; she earned that one – and a blue tee shirt as well. When she turned back around, she found Brittany standing in the middle of the floor grinning at her like the Cheshire cat, both hands behind her back.

"Good morning! Guess which hand."

"Uhhh, that one," Santana pointed at her left and shrugged. She was trying to keep her morning grumpiness under control, but she was not at all awake yet.

In answer, Brittany whipped her hand from behind her back. In her fist were two wide ribbons, one blue, one white. "For you, for good luck," she said.

"Awesome, thanks Brittany! What's in the other hand?"

Brittany showed. An identical pair of ribbons. "For Quinn. It was a win-win," she grinned. "I got some too. Come here, I'll put them in for you."

"OK, but my hair's a rat's nest from sleeping on it wet," Santana warned.

"Oh, hush, your hair is beautiful. Come here," she repeated.

Before her blush could show too much – she couldn't remember anyone but Abuela calling her beautiful, ever - Santana obediently sat on the edge of Brittany's so the taller girl could kneel on the bed behind her and gather up her long brown locks high on her head. Santana put her arm up for Brittany to take the hair tie from her wrist, and smiled as Brittany pulled her ponytail through. The gentle tugging felt good. "Okay, finishing touch!" Brittany announced with just _so _much energy for 7AM. Santana held still while her friend tied the ribbons tightly around her ponytail. "All done, look!"

Santana turned to face the mirror and had to smile. Ribbons were a _little _bit cheesy, but she had to admit, she looked like a real cheerleader. Anyway, they all knew the Cheerios wore ribbons regularly, so they must be cool, right? Smart of Brittany to get them all an accessory that would boost their confidence all day long.

"Thanks! They look great. Want help with yours?" Brittany let Santana tie her own set of ribbons into perfectly shiny blonde hair, then they hurried downstairs, where Brittany's mom greeted them, "Good morning, Harrison Middle School's newest cheerleaders!"

"Good morning Mom," mixed with "Good morning Mrs. Pierce."

"Santana, I told you last night, my name is Marian. 'Mrs. Pierce' makes me feel old." The words were a soft scold, delivered with a smile.

"Sorry, Marian. Good morning," Santana repeated.

"Breakfast is on the table. I made you girls oatmeal and peanut butter toast, and eat some fruit too. You need all the power you can get today." They sat down eagerly and Brittany reached to pour orange juice. "Santana, I didn't know if you usually took your lunch or bought it, but I made you a turkey bagel anyway."

"Oh, Marian, thanks, but you've fed me twice already," Santana said apologetically. "I usually buy, anyway."

"Take it. It's healthy. And you never have to worry about that here. I love having you girls around; I'll feed you any time I want to." Again, the familiarity. Santana was already a part of "you girls" and she was…welcome. Not a burden. She hoped her feeble "Thanks" and smile said enough of what she meant it to.

VVV

Brittany's gift of the ribbons kept working their magic once the girls got to school (Quinn loved hers too and put them in immediately; anything remotely like what the Cheerios had was wonderful to her). Santana felt much more calm than she'd expected to, and made it all the way to time for tryouts to start before her actual nervousness kicked in.

She'd exchanged her jeans for black shorts and her sandals for worn but newly-washed tennis shoes, tucked in her shirt as Jenny had instructed, and neatened her hair ribbons. Now she sat stretching next to Quinn and Brittany, and good thing too, because Tasha came around with tryout numbers and they got assigned to the same group, along with Meghan and an eighth grader Santana didn't know. Being with Meghan made her nervous, though. She was good, and would probably be captain.

Brittany seemed to read her mind. In an instant she had scooted behind Santana, placing her palms on Santana's back and leaning gently to help her stretch while she whispered into Santana's ponytail, "This is great! The more good people in a group, the better the whole group looks. I see it in dance, all the time." Santana smiled, less at the positive spin on things than at the fact that she had a friend who not only could see when she needed reassurance, but who also gave it freely.

Once tryouts got underway, her nervousness melted away quickly. After warming up, the group showed their jumps all together, then moved into the stunt groups they'd been working in all week. Santana found Allie, Sarah, and Danielle, and talked quietly with them as the coaches and judges made their way between the four groups asking to see what they had been working on.

The first group they approached was Quinn's. Santana watched, holding her breath, as her best friend fought to stay in the air but finally fell because one of her bases lost her grip on Quinn's foot. The second one wasn't much better, but on the third, Tasha stepped behind the clumsy base and put her hands under Quinn's shoe as well. Quinn took her moment of stability to bounce her ponytail, ribbons and all, and flash the cheesiest smile Santana had ever seen. After her dismount (which came with another winning smile), Quinn gave her bases a quick little hug and Santana flashed a thumbs-up her way.

Santana's group's first elevator was wobbly, but she didn't fall, and her second one felt perfect. The girl being her back spot, Danielle, said as much after her feet were back on the ground. Then, Jenny huddled their group together.

"I really think you're ready. Let's try a liberty." She looked into Santana's eyes for a second (not enough time for her to protest), then nodded at both bases. "You guys can do this. Get into elevator."

"But we haven't practiced this," broke in Danielle, looking around the rest of the group at the judges.

"I know that. We're practicing it now," Jenny said. Danielle huffed and grabbed Santana's waist. "Come on, girls, we got this" Allie whispered loudly.

Santana took a deep breath and counted into the stunt they'd actually practiced, wondering what in hell Jenny was thinking making them do something for the first time in front of judges. But she remembered that one of the things they were looking for was coachability, so she stuck her elevator and let herself be coached. Jenny was showing the bases what to do as they were holding Santana, so she squeezed tight and added a smile for good measure, in case anyone was watching. After what felt like three minutes but was probably half of one, Jenny looked up at her.

"Okay, San, all you gotta do is pick up your foot-" she tapped Santana's right foot, "and stick it right to your knee, okay. Squeeze your butt, and go! Pick it up!" She rapped on the top of Santana's shoe, and Santana…went. She felt her body listing to one side, but the reminder was right there – "Squeeze your butt! Stay up there!" and she righted herself. Danielle had a death grip on her calf anyway, so she probably couldn't fall down if she tried. She gasped a little as her bases rearranged their grips on her remaining foot, but kept it together. Smile. Smile. Smile. You can actually do this.

"Awesome! Great! OK, bring your foot back down, slowly…" Santana followed Jenny's instructions, and by the time her team had popped her off and had her back on the ground safely, she was shaking, but smiling. Her group exploded into smiles and hugs all around, and Tasha and Jenny gave them each a high five, and Santana a hug. Santana looked around and met Quinn's silent applause, then Brittany's huge smile.

The final two stunt groups did well, too. Santana was still a little intimidated, but the pride of hitting that liberty in front of everyone overrode it, and she was mostly impressed. Maybe, she thought, Jenny hadn't just been bullshitting them about that whole "best squad in the conference" thing.

VVV

Santana, Brittany, and Quinn's group was called into the judges' room in the middle of the pack. Tasha met them outside the door to the classroom being used for judging, and told them the order to stand in. She put Meghan in the middle, which felt like a great safety net for Santana, who was starting to convince herself she'd forgotten the cheer. Just before they entered the room, Brittany caught Santana's eye, smiled, and nodded her head encouragingly.

Once inside, the judges first asked to see the two chants, then the cheer (Santana totally did remember it). The dance came last. Tasha cued up the music they'd been practicing to, and Santana knew it was for her and Quinn's benefit when Brittany quietly counted them into the beginning of the dance. Santana felt a little slow on a couple of the moves, but managed her way through the dance without actually stopping. Halfway through, she heard Brittany's silly British accent in her head, and reaffixed the confident smile that had fallen off her face in concentration. She made eye contact with Jenny for a second, and her coach was smiling, too.

The final component was the tumbling for "extra credit." Tasha pulled a mat over the classroom floor and asked if Brittany would like to go first. The other girls lined up behind her and watched as she completed several flawless tumbling passes, culminating in a perfect backflip. Santana was in awe, and so proud of her friend. Meghan went next, and showed skills almost as impressive as Brittany's (but not quite, Santana thought).

"Anyone else?" asked Jenny. No one spoke. Santana smiled and shook her head, but Brittany sidled over to her and nudged her. "Do your cartwheel," she urged quietly.

"Santana, do you have a cartwheel?" asked the coach.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing like-" Santana stammered.

"Tumbling is for extra credit only. If you have a cartwheel with good technique, show us." Santana approached the edge of the mat and turned one careful, clean cartwheel, then turned around and did another one back to where she was standing. Quinn did the same after her, and the group was dismissed.

After exchanging hugs with everyone in their tryout group, the three friends sat down against a wall to wait. There were still several other groups who had to try out, then the judges had to make their decisions. An hour later, everyone was finished and beginning to get antsy. Finally, Tasha appeared, holding a sheaf of envelopes in one hand.

"All right, girls. Here's the deal. We're keeping 12 cheerleaders this year. I have an envelope for every one of you with your name on it. Inside is a card that tells you whether or not you made the squad. First, I just want to say that Jenny and I have been so, so impressed with all of you this week, and you should be proud of yourselves for how much you've improved. Second, if you don't make the team this year, 7th graders, please practice, exercise, and come back next year." Santana gulped. "Okay, with that, I'm putting these here. You can come and find yours, and open it here or at home. If you're on the team, you'll get a call from a coach later tonight."

She set the envelopes in a pile on the floor and walked away. No one moved for a moment, but then the more confident 8th graders leapt forward to claim their envelopes and immediately started tearing into them while the rest of the girls shuffled forward to search the pile for their own numbers. Santana saw Meghan and Allie hugging each other and smiling. Well, no surprises there, but it was still two spots out of 12 that didn't belong to her or her friends. She turned to Brittany and Quinn.

"Do you guys wanna get ours and take them outside? I don't…" she looked around to where a couple of their classmates were already crying. "I don't want to be in here much longer." Emotions, whether hers or someone else's, were not her strong suit, and if she was cut, she didn't want everyone to see her crying. Likewise, if she made the team, she didn't want to seem like an ass for celebrating in front of the crying girls.

Brittany nodded fervently and Quinn shrugged consent, so Santana pushed her way toward the pile and fished out their envelopes. Each one was sealed with a little cheerleader sticker. They grabbed their bags and left through the double doors to the back of the building. Quinn was getting impatient and said, "OK, let's just do this. I think I know anyway-"

Brittany cut her off. "OK, on three. 1, 2, 3!" They ripped open their envelopes then scrambled to get the cards out and read them. Santana read:

Congratulations! You have made the 2006-2007 Harrison Middle School cheerleading squad! We are so excited to work with you this year. Practice starts Monday, 3:15 PM. - Jenny and Tasha

She felt her face break into a grin and looked up to where Quinn and Brittany were already nodding back at her.

"We all – we all made it?" Santana asked, a little incredulous.

"YES, yes, yes!" Brittany started the chant, Quinn joined in, and soon all three of them were screaming, hugging, and jumping up and down together.


	3. Chapter 3

Being on the cheerleading squad changed Santana's life for the better in all the ways she'd been hoping it would change. Well, maybe not _all_ the ways.

She still worried every time she had to ask her Abuela or her parents for money to buy yet another piece of clothing or equipment. (It was bullshit, by the way, that cheerleaders had to buy their own pompoms. Basketball players weren't dishing out for their basketballs, she was pretty sure.) But she made it work. One of her neighbors at Abuela's house wanted help mowing his lawn and tending his garden on weekends, so Santana traded a couple of hours of her time for 30 bucks every week, which helped when it came time to buy the $85 Nike cheer shoes her team required.

But all the school-related things she'd hoped would change, did. She not only had a new good friend (if she was being honest with herself, Brittany was starting to feel more like her best friend), but being on a team was like getting a package deal on 10 more friends at once. She got along with everyone on the squad, and though there were a couple of 8th graders she butted heads with, there were two other seventh graders who now rounded out her regular lunch table. She finally felt like she had friends, good friends, in every class, and she got to see all of them every day after school.

The cheering itself was a blast. There was a lot more conditioning involved than she and Quinn had expected, but she was actually starting to look forward to the crunches, push-ups and jump drills they did each afternoon. Her scrawny body was getting stronger, and she felt more and more power each week as she jumped into stunts. Brittany, who'd already been strong from dance, was becoming toned and was well on her way to developing a six-pack (the team compared abs after crunches). Brittany was also proving to be a powerful base.

The best part was that Santana, Brittany, and Quinn had been assigned to the same stunt group. Brittany and a good-natured, goofy 8th grader named Sarah were the bases, and Santana and Quinn took turns flying and back-spotting. Quinn was still pissed that she got only a part-time flyer position, but it suited Santana just fine. She liked being able to learn the techniques for two positions, and she thought that having the time to lift Quinn made her able to understand what she needed to do when it was her turn in the air.

Besides, Brittany and Sarah worked out sketch comedy routines involving recurring characters and impeccable timing that kept them all laughing, so it was hard for even Quinn to be in a bad mood for long.

VVV

Jenny proved a tough coach who didn't take any excuses and who, on occasion, was impatient and snapped at the girls. Tasha was her gentler counterpart, always taking time to talk through new material and assuring each girl that she was doing a good job. Santana loved her coaches. She had always wanted a big sister, someone who had her interests at heart but wasn't constantly focused on worrying about paying the bills. As basketball season got underway, Tasha especially became more casual and friendly with the girls, listening in and laughing as they talked about boys, their classes, and the other goings-on in their lives, and occasionally offering advice.

Tasha was the most amazing person Santana had ever met. Ever. I mean, this girl was just in high school, a junior, and after injuries from a fall (probably many falls) were exacerbated by tumbling and she couldn't cheer any more, decided to take a job as an assistant coach. I mean. She could have done anything, done high school things, but she chose to be there with the Harrison Middle girls. And she was cool, but in the way that Santana wanted to be cool. She wasn't dumb. She took AP classes and talked about the books she was reading and the latest experiments in her Chem class. She made being smart cool, and Santana loved her for it. Santana was thrilled to find she could actually have a conversation with Tasha about books, or movies, or whatever, and not sound like a dumb kid.

Plus, Tasha was gorgeous. She had thick strawberry-blonde hair that she wore in a messy bun during practice, deep blue eyes, and a round face with soft features that she accented perfectly with minimal but effective makeup. She actually looked, now that Santana thought about it, like an older Brittany, if Brittany had a different face shape and didn't get any taller.

Tasha also had a boyfriend, Jake, who came to many of their games. At least half the squad claimed to be madly in love with him, and all of them begged Tasha for news of how things were with them, their latest dates, and whether she thought they would get married one day. Tasha always answered honestly and put up with the girls swooning over her boyfriend with a good-natured eye roll.

One Thursday, Tasha came into practice a little late, which in itself was out of the ordinary. The girls were already stretching in a circle, but Santana looked up to say hi to her favorite coach. When she did, she saw that something was wrong. Tasha's face was red and streaked with tears and mascara. In two seconds, Santana jumped up out of her stretch and ran over to Tasha.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" She asked, gingerly touching Tasha on the arm and searching her face for an answer. By that time, the stretching circle was completely broken up and everyone was crowding around, but Santana stayed close.

"Ugh. I'm sorry girls," Tasha started, her voice wavering. "Jake and I had a fight as I was leaving school to come here. It's stupid, but he hurt my feelings and…and now I'm crying." A big tear spilled out of each watery eye. It was breaking Santana's heart. She put her arms around Tasha and pressed her face to her coach's damp cheek.

"Well, whatever happened, we know you're right and he's wrong," Santana said adamantly. A couple of the girls in the circle twisted up their lips and wrinkled their brows, as if weighing whether someone as fine as Jake could be wrong. Santana glared at them. "Do you wanna talk about it, Tash?" she asked.

"Not right now. I apologize for interrupting practice." Tasha brought her hands up onto Santana's back and returned the hug Santana kept giving her. Santana squeezed her tighter, and flushed a little at just how good Tasha's hair smelled up close. She made a note to tell her that later, to cheer her up. "Let's get back to it. We'll talk later." The love from the team seemed to have restored Tasha a little, and she corralled the cheerleaders back into practice.

Santana was furious. Tasha was a smart, beautiful, amazing, prefect person. What the hell did he do to her? She didn't feel any better when she found out at their water break (Tasha now fully composed) that Jake had accused Tasha of ignoring him and being a bad girlfriend for spending her after school time coaching their team. Tasha had told him he wasn't being supportive, and they went on dates all the time anyway, but he called her selfish and threatened to break it off. Santana could not keep the look of consternation off her face. That was the most illogical thing she'd ever heard. This guy was an idiot.

A thought popped into her mind that she'd had before, about her friends who'd started dating guys who turned out to be totally inept at being their boyfriends. Santana knew she could do it better. She sometimes wished she were a guy, because she knew she'd be able to take care of a girl like she deserved. Lame excuses for not coming to their girlfriends' sports games? Thoughtless presents, or worse, forgotten birthdays? Rude remarks about the girl or her friends? None of that would happen if Santana were a guy. She would be the best boyfriend ever, especially if the universe smiled on her and she could date Tasha.

But Jesus, what was she thinking about? No boys even wanted to date her yet, and maybe it was because she had weird thoughts like that. Oh, well. When she did start dating she would find someone that would do all those things right. For now, she knew was a good friend. That was all she could give the girls of the world who had to deal with the stupidity of males their age.

VVV

The rest of that school year went by in a fast, fun blur. Santana danced at the Christmas Ball in a huge circle of cheer friends, and even got asked to slow dance by a couple of boys from her class. She spent Christmas Day with her parents and Abuela, as usual, but New Year's Eve with the Pierces, where they pulled party crackers at midnight and made nonsensical toasts with sparkling cider. The day before school started back, Santana finally had Brittany over to meet her Abuela. They all watched The Price is Right together (Brittany was surprisingly good at it) and Abuela made them hot cocoa. For a long time after she referred to Brittany as "the one with the good nose for prices."

Brittany and Santana teamed up to do their spring science project together. They tried to find out whether Brittany's cat, Lord Tubbington, liked one color laser pointer better than another. They didn't get a ribbon or anything (the judges thought it was a good idea but lacked a good way to measure the results), but they did get an A on the project.

Photos of Santana made it onto Brittany's bulletin board, and notes from Brittany filled Santana's binder pockets daily.

Tasha hosted an end-of-the-season sleepover where the girls ate nachos and watched When Harry Met Sally and played Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board like they were 10. Santana fell asleep on the floor between Tasha and Brittany, positive she'd never been so happy in all her life.

Finally, they had finished their end of year exams and only two bullshit days of school lay between them and summer. Santana had no idea why they actually had to attend school if all the learning was over, but was happy enough to trade snacks and back massages with Brittany while the class watched faux-educational movies all afternoon. The experience was marred a little when their teacher threw the lights on all of a sudden to expose Quinn and her new boyfriend, Zack, making out under a table – Santana was embarrassed for everyone in the room – but Quinn was unfazed and just smiled coyly at the teacher and smoothed her hair.

VVV

And so summer started. Honestly, Santana was glad that Quinn finally had the boyfriend she'd been dreaming of (or, you know, just any boyfriend; Quinn could work on him). It took some of the stress off Santana, who'd begun to feel awkward about how much more time she was spending with Brittany than Quinn.

But now Quinn was _always_ either at Zack's lake house with his family or on the phone with Zack or at the mall with Zack. Yuck. That would have really bothered Santana a few months ago, but all of a sudden it seemed like Quinn was too old for things like playing Clue in pajamas, jumping on trampolines (Brittany's neighbors had one), and pool noodle fights. All of which Santana, and especially Brittany, were still very much into. So it worked out okay that Quinn and her now-stuffy self had someone to play grownups with, even if Santana did worry that her friend spent too much time either making out or thinking about making out, or more.

Santana knew about sex, of course. Her parents hadn't talked to her, nor had her grandmother, but she'd had enough sense to check out books from the library about the topic since she'd been old enough to have her own card, and she enjoyed poring over Quinn's mom's Cosmo collection as much as her friends did. She just…wasn't ready to think about having it herself yet, and she couldn't imagine that anyone her age was. She realized that at least one girl her age had already lost her virginity to her high school boyfriend, but Santana had no interest in joining that club. She just worried that Quinn did.

Other than her worries about Quinn, which after one blowout argument she kept to herself, Santana's summer went smoothly. Her dad's disability suit from his injury at work a year prior had finally come through, so there was finally enough money for things. Not a lot, but enough. Santana spent a little more time at her parents' house than she had in recent years, even bringing Brittany over a few times as well. Brittany was polite and charming, no surprises, and Santana was relieved when her parents kept their end of the dinner table conversation to a minimum and didn't talk about money in front of her friend.

Most of the time, though, Santana was at Brittany's house. Sometime during the course of that summer, Brittany's room became "Brittany and Santana's room" to the Pierce family. Santana napped on Brittany's bed while Brittany took her morning dance classes. They traded clothes and swimsuits (until Santana had to jump up a cup size because, praise, her boobs were finally coming in) to the point that they forgot which shorts were whose.

One day, rummaging in the Pierces' basement, they found a box full of Marian's old records and a record player. They played I Wanna Dance With Somebody so many times even Marian got sick of it and they had to move their choreography of 80s-style dance routines to the garage.

Brittany's dad drove his pickup truck to Abuela's house to get Santana's bicycle, which stayed in the Pierce garage from then on out since Brittany lived closer to town. They were also within biking distance of the many swimming holes along the river, and the girls often made the dirt road by the river their only destination in a day.

Santana got so used to spending time with Brittany that for the first time in her life, she was sad when school started back. Usually school meant an end to summer boredom, and a way to escape the melancholy of her parents or the suffocating attention of Abuela. This year, however, she felt like she was being ripped away from where she was meant to be – next to Brittany, pedaling their bikes to the library, or the ice cream store, or the river, or on a few glorious days, all three.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana was even more depressed to be back in school when she looked around her new 8th grade classroom and realized that more of her peers had swung Quinn's way than hers and Brittany's over the summer. She saw an awful lot of padded bras, lipstick in place of last year's gloss, and even highlights on her female classmates. The boys saw it too, and weren't shy about drooling over the girls, who seemed to be competing for who-could-show-the-most-skin-and-get-away-with-it awards in the still sweltering August weather. Santana rolled her eyes at Brittany, who crossed hers back.

In addition to Brittany's upbeat goofiness, Santana had the promise of cheerleading to keep her in good spirits. Tryouts were coming up soon, so before long she'd have somewhere to be and something to do that didn't involve trying to be sexy or trying to keep Quinn and her other cheer friends, Ryan and Madelyn, out of trouble. Plus, Tasha and Jenny would be their coaches again this year. If she couldn't have her summer routine, Santana needed her cheerleading routine to feel normal.

Until tryouts arrived, Santana embarked on a mission to get back in shape after a lazy summer. In the backyard and basement after school, she went through the conditioning drills that had been easy by the end of last year, but winded her now. Brittany was taking an intensive dance and gymnastics class to get back in shape and to keep up her technique, but she called Santana every night after she got home, and they talked for an hour or so from their separate beds until someone's family shouted at them to get off the phone and get to sleep.

One night as Santana's eyes began to get heavy and they were signing off, Santana answered Brittany's "Goodnight Santana," with "G'night. Love you," and hung up. Her eyes popped wide open as she hit the "END CALL" button on the cordless phone. Shit. What an idiot. She hit the redial button quickly, her face flushing.

"Hiiiii again, Santana. D'you forget something?" Brittany's voice, clear and bright as always. Maybe she hadn't heard.

"I, uh, um, I," Santana was floundering. "I-realized-after-I-hung-up-I-accidentally-said-I-love-you-I-think-I-thought-I-was-talking-to-my-mom-or-something," she gushed. She was standing up next to her bed now, embarrassed and wishing she were much, much smaller. Or just not having this conversation right now.

"Oh. I thought you meant to say that. I was going to tell you I love you too, but then you hung up. I figured I'd tell you tomorrow." Santana's shoulders relaxed. Brittany continued, "It's nice, and you know, I can't believe we don't say that. We should say it every day." Santana's mouth fell open at how honest, how uninhibited her friend, her best friend was. She realized she should answer her, so _Brittany_ didn't end up feeling dumb, when it was Santana's awkwardness on display here.

"You're right, Britt. It is nice. Let's do that. I would like that. … I love you." Brittany didn't seem to notice the short sentences that Santana feared would betray her unfamiliarity with such intimacy.

"I love you, too! Sweet dreams, Santana."

"Sweet dreams." Santana hung up again, and collapsed into bed. She fell asleep with a big, stupid smile on her face that only loving someone who loves you back can bring.

VVV

Tryouts were more fun but harder that year. Fun, because Santana actually had friends to try out with – not just Brittany and Quinn but Ryan and Madelyn too – and because she was more confident in her chances of making the squad. Harder, because as older, more experienced cheerleaders, they were expected to help the newer girls out. Santana found herself flying on two brand-new bases (she'd forgotten how rocky that felt!), back spotting a lot of new, scared flyers, and even basing one of the smaller girls with Brittany. Basing had been surprisingly fun; it was empowering to lift a girl almost her size into the air, and Brittany had given her a huge grin when they'd succeeded.

Brittany was even helping Tasha teach the tryout dance. Santana had gotten to see Brittany dance on stage that summer when she went with Marian to Brittany's summer recital. She had been mesmerized by the air of confidence and sheer joy that Brittany had brought to the stage. Now, watching her teach the younger girls the counts to a short but medium-complicated dance, Santana saw that joy again. She smiled and let herself enjoy being taught by someone so good at what she did.

Santana, Brittany, Quinn, Ryan, and Madelyn all made the squad for a second year, along with a new 8th grader, Jennyce, who'd just moved to town from Atlanta and who could tumble (almost) as well as Brittany. The rest of the squad was filled out with 7th graders, who all seemed pretty cool to Santana except for Paige, who Santana had pegged from tryout day one as a snotty country club kid who was used to getting what she wanted. Unfortunately, it seemed what she had wanted had been great dance and gymnastics lessons, because she had no trouble making the team.

Tasha called Santana's house the night after tryout day with a surprise: Santana had been chosen as a team captain!

"Really? I thought probably Quinn…" Santana had assumed that Quinn would be captain, simply because Quinn talked about it all the time and, well, just wanted it more.

"She's a captain, too. You two will be working together to lead our team this year. I thought you would balance each other well." Santana could hear the smile in Tasha's voice. So Tasha had chosen her, or at least thought she would do a good job. Santana blushed, automatically glancing around to make sure no one saw even though she was alone in her room. But, wait –

"Um, Tasha? I'm sorry to keep, like, asking questions about this, and I'm really grateful and excited to be a captain, but, um, but, why not Brittany?"

There was a long pause and Santana thought she heard Tasha sigh on the other end of the line. "I knew you'd ask that," the older girl finally spoke, "and I want you to know that Jenny and I really thought about who to select this year. I can tell that you care about her. Brittany is doing a great job with the younger girls, and honestly, I think she'll keep on being a good leader whether she has the title or not. Honestly - and I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I trust you - you were the easy choice to make. Jenny and I debated for days about whether to make the second captain Brittany or Quinn, and I think that this might make sense to you: Quinn _needs _it more."

Santana took a second to process all that Tasha was saying. First, vainly, she gave herself a second to relish the information that she was the _obvious_ choice for captain, a little shiver of pride running down her spine and settling deep in her belly. Then, more thoughtfully considering the fact that Tasha saw Quinn like she did, though she'd never have admitted it before now. Quinn cared about titles, needed a certain amount of recognition to perform at her best. Santana quickly decided to share her understanding with her coach.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. I love Quinn, but she…cares too much about things sometimes, if you know what I mean. And she'll be a great captain," she added quickly, so as not to sound like she was badmouthing her teammate and friend.

"Yes, she definitely will. We wouldn't have made her captain otherwise," Tasha agreed. "See you in practice Monday, and congratulations, Captain!"

VVV

It took most of the first month of practice to get the new 7th grade girls and Jennyce caught up, teaching everything from motions to jumps to cheers to basic stunts. Quinn rolled her eyes and huffed each time they had to re-run a drill, but just as Tasha had predicted, Brittany kept a lookout for anyone who was having trouble and stepped in closer to walk her through it again. Santana tried to emulate Brittany and encourage the girls who were still learning while also pushing herself to hit every motion cleaner, every jump higher, but she was eager to move on to bigger and better things, too.

Still, Santana was comforted by the old familiar pattern of daily practice, of seeing friends every afternoon, of talking to Tasha. Santana loved the fact that she now had eighth-grade school subjects, including algebra, to talk to the older girl about. She was also enjoying the fact that, as a team captain, she was looked up to by the younger cheerleaders, who would ask her for help with homework and advice on whatever social problems they were having. Having never had siblings or even younger friends before, Santana enjoyed the feeling of being a role model.

Finally, _finally_, with only a week of practice left before the first basketball game, Jenny announced that the team was ready to start putting stunts into cheers and getting ready for their halftime debut. Santana bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet as Jenny and Tasha gave their clipboards one last review before assigning permanent stunt groups. Her heart flipped when Jenny first pulled Brittany and Jennyce and stood them together as a basing pair. After arranging two more base groups, she called a seventh-grader named Katrina over to back spot Brittany's group. Then, she called Santana's name.

Her heart fell. Was she really going to be a back this year? She had enjoyed playing different roles during tryouts, but – "Santana, you'll fly right here." Jenny was pointing at the now-completed group that Brittany was in.

Santana couldn't keep the look of elation off her face as she bounded toward her group. Brittany opened her arms wide and threw them around her in a celebratory hug, which Jennyce and Katrina joined. Santana looked up in time to see Quinn named the flyer of the second group, and, ugh, Paige would fly on the third. Determined not to let the bratty girl's self-satisfied smile ruin the moment, Santana found Tasha and mouthed, _Thanks_. She had a feeling Tasha had influenced her placement with Brittany. Tasha gave a tiny nod and smiled back.

The assignment of permanent groups was like the start of a whole new level of practice. The rest of that day, and each day that week, everyone seemed to kick their efforts into high gear. Their first game was a huge success, and Santana had to admit that Quinn's bossy streak really _did_ come in handy when it was time to herd the nervous newbies out of the locker room on time.

Santana was invited to Brittany's house after the game. Over pizza and lemonade, the two eagerly recounted every single moment to Marian, ignoring the fact that she had been at the game snapping photos like a paparazzo. Marian nodded along, generously adding her own observations "from a fan's perspective." She finally headed to bed and allowed Brittany and Santana to make up the sofa bed in the living room so they could stay up late watching movies.

Midway through _Ever After_, Brittany rolled toward Santana and ran her hand through her friend's hair. "Your hair would look pretty like that," she said, nodding sleepily at Drew Barrymore's simple but attractive style onscreen.

"Mmm. Thanks, Britt." Santana was half asleep, but smiled and nuzzled her head against Brittany's hand in thanks.

"I'll fix it for you like that tomorrow, okay?" Brittany whispered, her fingers still entwined in dark locks. "Good night, Santana. I love you." Santana brought her hand up, found Brittany's, and squeezed it in what she meant to be a short gesture.

"I love you too." Brittany, however, shifted her hand so that she was holding Santana's and brought it down between them. They fell asleep - and woke the next day - with their fingers loosely entwined and their foreheads nearly touching on one pillow in the middle of the sofa bed.

Santana wasn't sure why, but it felt important to separate their hands and roll to face away from Brittany before Marian came in to rouse them for breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

NOTE: This incident wasn't supposed to be its own chapter, but that's what happened. Another update coming really soon, though!

VVV

In mid-October, Quinn's parents suggested that they host a Hallowe'en party for "all of Quinnie's little friends." Sitting at the Fabrays' dining room table helping with the planning session, Santana was catching on to Mrs. Fabray's worries about her daughter's social life. Quinn's suggestion to hold the party entirely in the basement was swiftly vetoed – "There's more light up here, it'll be nicer." – and the guest list was scrutinized within an inch of everyone's sanity.

"Do you have to invite so many _boys_, Quinnie?" Santana cringed inside on Quinn's behalf every time Mrs. Fabray used the infantile nickname for her daughter.

"MOM! You said you wanted to meet ALL my friends. I'm not a nun, I have friends who are boys. _And_ a boyfriend, remember? They're all invited, or we'll have the party somewhere else!" Santana also cringed inside every time Quinn snapped at her mother, venom in her words. Really, she spent most of the day cringing, and trying occasionally to get a word in between the bickering Fabrays.

The day of the party, Santana, Brittany, and the other eighth grade cheerleaders Meghan, Ryan, and Jennyce arrived at Quinn's in the afternoon to help decorate and to get ready together. While Brittany and Santana hung friendly-faced paper ghosts in the kitchen (Mrs. Fabray's idea), the other girls moved furniture in the basement. Quinn and her mom had reached a compromise on the upstairs-downstairs issue: they could use the basement as a dance and game room (Mrs. Fabray was a sucker for party games) as long as they kept the lights on and understood that Quinn's parents could drop in to check on them any time.

Once Quinn was reasonably satisfied with the décor, meaning she had gone behind her mom and ripped at least half a dozen grinning cardboard jack-o-lanterns off the walls, the girls piled into Quinn's room to change into their costumes.

Quinn had wanted them all to wear their cheerleading uniforms, but Jennyce joined Brittany and Santana in declaring that the lamest idea probably ever. They finally landed on being a group of superheroes. Jennyce actually knew about comics and all the characters (Santana was liking this girl more and more) and had them all set up to be DC Comics characters, but Quinn, sensing she was losing control of the group, announced that she was going to be a PowerPuff Girl and needed two others. So the group ended up divided between Quinn, Ryan, and Meghan, who dressed in the pastel dresses of the cartoon little girls, and in a much darker palette, Brittany, Santana, and Jennyce as Catwoman, Wonder Woman, and Batwoman respectively.

Brittany's lifetime of dance recitals proved a valuable source for random pieces of clothing, including a pair of star-spangled boyshorts and a plasticky pair or red boots they'd found for Santana to wear. In addition, she had a red swimsuit top that she'd enlisted Abuela's help to modify, and gold bracelets and a headband. She wriggled into the various pieces of her costume in the safety of Quinn's huge walk-in closet, glad for the privacy so she could adjust her bra inside the tight-fitting top.

Posing in front of the full-length mirror, she was actually impressed by how well the ensemble came together. And how toned her legs were getting. (Thanks, hours of squats and jumps!)

Santana had gotten so caught up scrutinizing her body that she was surprised when a black-clad figure slipped into the closet and gave her a playful smack on the butt. "Lookin' good, Wonder Santana!" Brittany beamed around the lollipop in her mouth and reached up to tousle Santana's hair around her headband. "I just still wish we could have gotten those blue streaks in your hair. But it looks amazing anyway!"

"Wow, how much candy have you had already, Britt?" Santana laughed as Brittany started jumping around in a circle. She caught her cat tail on her third time around and tugged. "You look great, too. Very catlike. You should wear black more often." Brittany stopped and wrinkled her nose in thought. "Hm. I don't usually like it, you know I like the bright colors, but, if you say so, okay!" With that, she bounded back out of the closet and Santana followed her sugar-fueled friend to join the party.

VVV

Most of the evening went exactly as Santana would have predicted. The other girls and boys showed up dressed in various degrees of costume, and for awhile milled around awkwardly munching Doritos and carrot sticks and trying not to get caught by Quinn's dad for a photo. (Taking pictures seemed to be his only contribution to the evening.) Eventually, people started trickling downstairs to play Twister, which turned into dancing, which, when no parents had appeared for at least half an hour, turned into spin-the-bottle.

Santana shrugged and went to join the group just as they were hammering out the rules of the game. "Um, I have a boyfriend," Meghan protested. "I can't kiss anyone but him."

"And if you're a girl and you land on a girl, you can re-spin," Paige broke in. This was met with an uproar, the consensus of which was, no, you had to kiss whoever you got, no re-spins. Paige pouted and sat back, clearly upset that she had no sway with this group. Santana smirked. Cheeky seventh grader needed to mind her business.

Santana looked around to find Quinn and see how she was reacting to the power struggle, but couldn't find her. Or Zack. Jesus, gross, they must have gone to have their own kissing game somewhere. Oh well, not her problem tonight. Let the other PowerPuff Girls worry about her; after an afternoon of dealing with Quinn's neuroses, Santana had had enough of arguing with her.

The game got underway. After a couple of unremarkable pecks that led to a new rule that every kiss had to last at least three seconds, it was Santana's spin. As she worked her way to the plastic bottle at center of the circle, she realized that this would be her first kiss. She spun hard and watched as the bottle stopped, pointing unmistakably at Jennyce. Everyone burst into laughter in anticipation of the first same-sex kiss of the game. Santana met Jennyce's eyes with her own and shrugged, hoping to just get it over with without too much teasing. Jennyce gamely grinned back and crawled to meet Santana in the middle of the circle.

"Get it, Super Girls!" Santana whipped her head around to see who was jeering at them and was surprised to realize it was Brittany, clapping and cheering her two friends. Santana chuckled and turned back to Jennyce.

"Okay, here we go…" she leaned in and pressed her lips carefully to her teammate's. While the other kids counted loudly, _One! Two, Three!_ Santana noticed that Jennyce's lips were soft and warm and really quite nice feeling. When they separated they both burst into laughter and Santana scurried away to sit on the outer ring, face flushed but relieved that she had survived her first kiss - if it counted, with a girl - in public.

A few minutes later, it was Brittany's turn. As her blonde friend leaned in and gave the bottle a vigorous spin, Santana found herself sitting up on her knees to see where it would land. The bottle slowed just as it was reaching Santana's part of the circle, and in spite of herself, Santana felt her heart flip at the idea of getting to kiss Brittany.

She was just about to move toward the center of the circle herself when Paige yelled, "Ugh, Santana, you've already had a turn! It's obviously pointing at Nathan anyway," Paige gestured toward the boy sitting directly in front of Santana. So it was pointing at both of them, so what? She hadn't realized. "Besides, don't you want to try for a _real _kiss this time? With a boy?" Santana gave Paige a _what-the-fuck_ face, but decided to let it go to save herself from trying to explain – to herself as much as to Paige – why she felt so disappointed, even angry.

So she just sat back on her heels, helpless, and watched her beautiful best friend grin at the boy before fluttering her eyes closed and press her lips to his. Santana watched carefully for signs of tongue being used, but found none. Still, Santana wondered if Brittany's lips tasted like sugar from all the candy she'd eaten. Nathan, for his part, was fumbling with his hands near Brittany's face, and eventually just let his hand fall, shaking, to Brittany's shoulder. When Brittany started to pull away after the required three seconds, Nathan's fingers grasped at the fabric of her costume, trying to pull her in again, but Brittany was already on her way out of the circle and away from him.

_Stupid boy,_ Santana thought, rolling her eyes. _You'd obviously go for the ponytail during a kiss like that with Britt, it's beautiful. Why wouldn't you just wind your fingers into her hair, or maybe brush your thumb on her cheekbone…_ Another voice showed up to fight with the first: _Shut up, jealous. You're jealous, of Brittany obviously, for getting a better kiss than yours. _

_It _wasn't_ better, _the first voice argued back, stubbornly reminding her that her own kiss with Jennyce really wasn't half bad and at least hadn't involved any awkward hand positioning, since they'd both kept theirs firmly on the concrete floor. _Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ was all the second voice could say.

Santana sent a glare Nathan's way, but couldn't bring herself to meet Brittany's eyes. She scooted back a little further from the circle of her classmates, who now seemed completely alien to her as they puckered their lips, fondled each other through thin costume material, held hands while waiting their turn.

Her body felt stone cold and somehow heavier than before, and she realized she wasn't having any fun at all. She was alternating between silently cursing Quinn and her dumb party and stewing in her newfound hatred for that idiot Nathan – wasn't he the one who made farting noises all the way through art class? – when her thoughts were interrupted by shrieking from upstairs.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray! What the- What are you-? OUT! Out of here, young man, OUT! Quinn, don't you move, I'll be back up here for you in a minute!"

"Oh, shit," Santana mumbled, jumping up to run upstairs and, what, she didn't know. Probably not intervene, but be there at least. But now everyone else had heard, too, and was going to gawk at whatever was happening, so she went, too. When she reached the top of the stairs, she found Quinn standing in the living room, her lipgloss smudged, hair mussed, and pastel blue dress quite disheveled, shouting something about "just kissing" at her mother. Mrs. Fabray's face was an unnatural shade of red and she broke her glower at Quinn only to periodically glare at an embarrassed-looking Zack, who was cowering near the front door.

"Quinnie, we_ trusted_ you! What about your _reputation_? What will people_ think_?" At the sound of a snicker, Mrs. Fabray looked around and realized that everyone else had come upstairs and caught up to the situation already. "Okay, kids, we're done here. Call your parents, every single one of you. Party's over. Quinn, get to your room, you're grounded starting NOW."

Santana and Brittany had both been set to spend the night at Quinn's but instantly agreed to call Brittany's parents instead. In her rush to comfort Quinn before she locked herself in her room and to make alternate plans for the night, Santana temporarily forgot about hating Nathan and her battling inner voices. She hugged Quinn, who was shaking with tears and barely seemed to register Santana's presence in her room, found Brittany's overnight bag and her own duffel, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone else witnessing her friend's humiliation.

VVV

Sitting in pajamas on Brittany's bed later that night, Santana knew they had a lot to talk about, but felt too exhausted to even start the conversation. She was grateful when Brittany suggested they get to sleep and held the covers open for her to crawl underneath.

After the lights were out, she finally got up the courage to ask her most pressing question. "Britt? Did you like your kiss?"

"Oh, I didn't hate it, I guess, but, it wasn't, like, a Taylor Swift song or anything. How was yours?" Even in the dark, Santana could picture just what Brittany's face looked like – lips closed and eyebrows raised expectantly – as the taller girl shifted closer and turned the question back to her.

"Uh, it was okay. At least Jennyce was nice about it. But it didn't really count. Right?" Santana heard Paige's petulant little voice in her head and couldn't believe she was basically quoting the brat.

"Hm." Brittany thought for a second, as if surprised by Santana's statement, then continued, "I think it counts if you say it does, just like anything else."


	6. Chapter 6

When Santana had followed through with her promise to call Quinn on Sunday, no one had answered, and her message hadn't been returned. Quinn arrived to their first class on Monday right on time, sauntered to her desk and sat down without looking anywhere but straight ahead at the whiteboard. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to catch her eye, Santana figured Quinn must still be embarrassed, and decided to talk to her privately later on.

That afternoon at practice, the entire team was walking on eggshells after hearing at lunch that Quinn had broken up with Zack. The rumor (Santana expected it was true, but still couldn't get Quinn to talk with her) was that her mom had forced her to do it.

Quinn was bravely trying to act as though nothing had happened, portraying an amped up version of her usual self. She snapped at Paige when she fell out of a stunt and barked at everyone to tighten up during drills. Everyone seemed too scared of Quinn to stand up to her, instead casting sideways glances at the angry girl and whispering to each other during water breaks. By the end of the afternoon, however, Santana, as co-captain and Quinn's friend, refused to be demeaned any further and marched up to her as everyone else was clearing out to go home.

"Okay, I get that what went down this weekend royally sucked, and I'm really sorry about everything with Zack, but you gotta turn down the bitch dial and chill with the tough-girl act."

Quinn tightened her ponytail and turned away stiffly. "It's not an act. I was humiliated, but I don't fall that easily. My mom should know that, and so should you."

"Quinn, no, that's not what I meant." Santana softened her tone. "I'm just trying to say it's okay if you wanna, like, actually talk about – "

"Nothing to talk about, except that I can't hang out on Sundays anymore. I have to go to church, both services, then youth group at night, like I used to." She tossed the words out nonchalantly, but the waver in her voice betrayed her. She soldiered on, "Which is fine, because…I should have been going anyway. A girl like me has to take care of her mind, body, _and_ soul, and there are so many boys there who are…nicer than Zack."

Santana tried to smile, but her heart broke hearing Quinn repeat what were obviously her mother's words as if she believed them, as if they were hers. "Okay, Quinn. If you change your mind, you know, I'm here."

VVV

With Quinn's social life effectively on lockdown, Santana and Brittany saw even less of her. Even at school, when she could have chosen to escape her mother's efforts to reclaim her prodigal daughter, Quinn continued to exude an air of holier-than-thou-ness that Santana just could not deal with.

Brittany seemed torn between doggedly supporting Quinn and sticking by Santana, until one day at practice Quinn berated her for wearing her cheer shorts too short and "tempting the devil_ and_ your own self-control" before bouncing away. Brittany was left standing open-mouthed, staring down at her own legs like she was wondering how they might be plotting to betray her. Santana, who'd watched the episode play out from where she was stretching on the floor a few feet away, scooted toward Brittany. "Don't worry about Quinn, she's just…dealing, I guess."

"What _is_ her deal? I feel like she's a different person from two weeks ago."

Santana looked up and into sad blue eyes, then back down at the spot on the floor she'd been trying to touch her fingertips to. Unfortunately, it was as unreachable as Quinn right now. "Yeah, I know. I don't know what to do about it though."

"Well, I guess we just let her know we're here, and she can come to us when she's ready." Brittany shrugged.

"Yeah. But in the meantime, I'll tell her to quit being jealous of your legs, 'kay?" Santana gave Brittany a playful slap on the calf. Brittany blushed and stepped behind Santana to push on her back and help her deepen the stretch.

VVV

"'M cold, are you cold?" Brittany asked one night that December. Though they were already pressed shoulder-to-shoulder underneath Brittany's quilt plus an additional knit blanket Marian had brought in, Santana had to admit she really was still chilly. The sound of the wind howling against the windowpanes didn't help.

"Yeah," she replied, kicking her legs between the flannel sheets to build up heat. "Want me to go get another blanket?"

"No, but here, let's just – more body heat," Brittany said. She rolled to face Santana, slung one arm around the shorter girl's shoulders, and pressed the front of her body against Santana's side. Santana brought both her hands up to rest on Brittany's forearm just under her own chin; they'd slept this way before. It _was_ warmer, after all.

Santana lay still, thankful for Brittany's easy embrace. By now she was accustomed to, but never took for granted, the effortlessness with which her friend showed intimacy. It was one of her favorite things about Brittany, because it was so different from her own default state of wounded-animal guardedness. It was contagious, too. While Santana wasn't particularly touchy with any of her other friends, she had no problem leaning in to and reciprocating Brittany's touches. So she wasn't surprised when Brittany nudged her shoulder and rolled her over to face the wall, the better to snuggle, and even raised her body a bit so Brittany could snake her arm around Santana's waist from behind.

They'd never really spooned before, but it felt nice. Safe. Santana rubbed her calves on Brittany's to help her warm up. "Feeling better?" she asked, tilting her head to look back at Brittany.

"Yeah, but – Come here," Brittany urged. She pulled Santana closer and scooted forward to meet her until Santana was essentially in her lap. When Brittany whispered, "I want to feel your heartbeat," Santana let her shoulders round so Brittany could curl in closer still, her breath catching at the feel of Brittany's breasts, soft and full, against her back.

Suddenly the two layers of cotton between them felt impossibly thin. Sure enough, Santana could feel Brittany's heartbeat resonating with her own, and Brittany must have been satisfied as well, because she didn't mention it again or move Santana's body further. Instead, Santana felt Brittany's hand come to rest on her stomach then felt Brittany's breath in her hair as the taller girl nuzzled into her neck.

Santana had never been physically closer to Brittany. Not when Brittany caught her when she fell from a stunt, not when they traded piggyback rides in the back yard. Their bodies touched at every point; she imagined them as lines drawn holding two colored pencils together in one hand. Brittany would be sky blue, she mused, her mind wandering with sleep and warmth. I would be…dark red? Purple? Funny, that she should be so sure of Brittany's color and not her own.

She snapped out of her drowsy imaginings when Brittany's hand stopped being still and brushed against her stomach. She thought it'd just settle somewhere else, but it kept moving, roaming over her tummy, abdomen, up to her hip. Everywhere the hand went, it left a trail of heat. Santana was acutely aware of everywhere it had been, and she imagined her body as an infrared map, the places Brittany had touched burning neon orange-red, the untouched parts dark, and achingly empty. She was suddenly no longer sleepy, but alert to Brittany's every movement, enjoying the way the forward progress of Brittany's fingers rumpled the t-shirt across her stomach, the way she paused to fit her palm over Santana's hipbone.

After Santana lost count of the laps Brittany's hand had made, abs-tummy-hip, Brittany slid her hand as far down the outside of Santana's leg as she could reach, clear off her pajama shorts and onto bare skin, where she spread her fingers wide before recalling them back up Santana's side. Santana suppressed an "mmmm" of pleasure (it sounded wrong, somehow) but couldn't stop her body's infrared map from suddenly exploding with heat-color, even in places yet untouched. (Painfully untouched. Places that Brittany couldn't, would never, touch. Places she shouldn't even be thinking about. Even so, Santana heard herself admit in her head that a particular point right between her legs would have been brightest of all on such a map.)

Santana struggled to keep breathing normally. She didn't want Brittany to stop; her body had never felt more alive. At the same time, she was terrified of her body's reaction. No. She was _interested_ in her body's reaction. She was terrified of her _mind's_ reaction. Because with every stroke of Brittany's hand over hypersensitive skin, words were tumbling through Santana's brain. _More. Touch. Yes. Love_. A desperate _Fuck!_ A scared _What now?_

While Santana's mind raced, while her skin glowed and tingled, her hands were getting antsy. As much as she wanted more of what Brittany was doing, she wanted to touch Brittany too. To meet that need and to quiet the panic building in her mind, she rolled back against Brittany.

"Roll over. Let me warm you up now." Yes, that was it. Fighting the chill, that was the goal of what they were doing, nothing more. Now that she'd said it out loud, Santana felt better. If anyone asked (Who would ask? Who would know?), she could tell them that: they were just trying to stay warm.

Brittany complied, sliding her hand off Santana's thigh one last shiver-delicious time and rolling to face the opposite way. Santana followed and wasted no time folding her body against Brittany's just as Brittany had done. The precedent made it okay. Santana wrapped her arm around Brittany and placed her hand on Brittany's stomach, then started to move it in circles like Brittany had done. Her palm was hot and damp, and she worried Brittany would say something (_Nervous much?_ she taunted herself in her head), but Brittany just leaned back into Santana and let out the same kind of contented "mmm" that Santana had been afraid to. Santana moved slowly, exploratory, up and onto Brittany's hip, down her thigh, and in a moment of courage (slash insanity), across the rolled waistband of her shorts.

The heat between her legs evolved to an ache that intensified every time Brittany reacted to her touch. It felt…good, but…wanting, like when her muscles were the good kind of sore from cheerleading practice, but would feel better if massaged. She didn't dare try massaging _this_, though, not with Brittany in her lap, obviously awake. So she just squeezed her legs together tighter, which helped a little, and concentrated on keeping Brittany warm until she heard – no, felt against her chest – Brittany's breathing slow and deepen. Santana settled her hand back on Brittany's stomach, not willing to let go now that she could hold her this way, and urged herself to sleep too.

VVV

The next day was a Sunday, and despite Santana's pleading, Abuela wouldn't let her stay at Brittany's another night.

"You haven't been to a single Mass this Advent, _mija_. I'll be there to pick you up at four." Santana recognized her grandmother's "this is final" tone, so she didn't argue further, knowing full well that Abuela could just as easily decide to pick her up earlier.

It started snowing mid-morning, so Santana and Brittany spent the day on the couch watching holiday movies on marathon. They sat close enough to share a blanket, and at one point Brittany lay down and draped her legs across Santana's lap, but Santana still felt too far away from her. She wanted to run her palms down Brittany's legs like she had last night, wanted to lie down and feel Brittany right behind her. She twisted her fingers into the fringe of the blanket instead, and if she hadn't been so annoyed with Abuela, she would have been relieved when the doorbell rang that afternoon.

Santana was still grumpy after mass, and sat through dinner at their kitchen table in a moody silence. This hadn't escaped Abuela's notice.

"Get over it, Santana. It's a school night. And – remember please – you have your own family. You have to spend some time at your own house." Santana bit her tongue to avoid pointing out that Brittany's parents loved her more than her own, and this wasn't technically her house, anyway. Instead, she excused herself and went to do her homework in bed.

VVV

Being in bed, though, was distracting, even without Brittany. Her thoughts kept straying away from the algebra in her book and toward Brittany – how it had felt to hold her, be held by her. She rolled to her side, mimicking their positions from the previous night. That didn't help her focus on the equations on the page though; instead, the same hot ache started to bloom between her legs. Before long, she gave up, shoving her book and papers into her backpack. (Math wasn't until after lunch, she could finish the assignment while she ate.)

Before closing her bedroom door, she yelled down the hall, "G'night, Abuela, going to bed early, _school night!_" happy to recycle Abuela's words for her own use.

Snuggled safely underneath the blankets, she let her mind wander freely. She replayed the moment Brittany pulled her in close. She ran her hands over her body the way Brittany had done. She remembered the way Brittany's butt had rested against her pelvis when they switched places. By the time she got to that image, the ache between her legs had grown to a throb that she couldn't ignore any longer.

Santana slid one hand down the front of her pajamas to cup the throbbing place. It was sensitive to the touch, even through her clothes, and her hips moved upward, as if of their own accord, to meet her hand more completely. A small groan escaped her lips. Shit, that felt good. Yes, this was what her body was demanding. She pressed her palm harder into the front of her pajamas; thrust upward into it a few more times. She wanted more.

Gingerly, she slipped one hand beneath the waistband of her pajamas, then her underwear. She cupped the place again, the skin-on-skin sensation a thousand times more intense than it had been through fabric. Her fingertips reached between her legs and found the skin there wet and slippery. She slid her fingers back and forth along her entrance, breath getting heavier.

She remembered an article she'd read in one of Quinn's stolen Cosmos. It had made her blush at the time, and she only got through half of it before she felt too funny and flipped to the style section, but now she was thankful for what she had read. She brought her wet fingers up to find the part of her that had so desperately needed to press into her palm earlier, found it, massaged it. By now she had to actively remind herself to keep quiet. Four fingers was too awkward for this spot, so she switched to two, and quickly found a pattern that shot a jolt of pleasure deep into her core with each repetition.

She hadn't thought about the previous night with Brittany for a few minutes, concentrating on learning what her body wanted and needed. But now that her motions became repetitive, her mind snapped back to Brittany's breath on her neck, Brittany's hand on her thigh, and before she could stop herself, she imagined the fingers circling her clit were Brittany's instead of her own.

_No!_ That same discordant voice arose within her mind automatically. _Not okay. Think about something, anything else. Think about…the other article in that Cosmo, about…the five hottest positions for summertime. _She tried. She pictured herself in one of the five hottest positions for summertime, but the more urgently her hips thrust, the less she could control her thoughts. Her mind bounced between images of the confusing sex positions in the magazine and the memory of Brittany's hands until she felt like her mind and body would both explode. Desperately, she quickened her pace, then stopped thinking entirely as her body shuddered in release.

It. Felt. So. Good. She kept her hand between her legs as they stopped shaking and her breathing returned to normal. Oh, fuck, so _that_ was masturbation. That was the subject of all those articles, what the boys at school snickered and smirked about. No wonder people talked about it so much, Santana thought. If only she could get her mind to settle on something acceptable while she did it.

Three orgasms later, she decided no one needed to know what or who she thought about when she masturbated.


	7. Chapter 7

a/n: My apologies to everyone who's still following this story for the huge delay in posts. Things have been quite busy for me, but don't worry, I'm not abandoning this story! Many many thanks to those of you who have encouraged me to keep going, and to those of you who have reviewed. Here's a short chapter to hold you over ;)

* * *

It became their routine. They never talked about it, before, during, or after. One of them would initiate with a complaint of being cold, of sore muscles, of a tummy ache, of a bad day. The other would offer heat, or a massage, or just comfort, which always came in the form of spooning and touching. Sometimes they switched positions, sometimes not.

More and more often, Brittany really did need Santana's comfort at the end of the day. As the time left in their eighth grade year dwindled, the other students became less tolerant of her quirkiness, their responses to her non-sequiturs less amused and more malignant. "Dumb blonde" jokes followed her through the cafeteria line, and barely-concealed snickers awaited her every time she dared to raise her hand in class. Santana shot dirty looks and whispered threats toward as many of the perpetrators as she could. This tended to shut them up in the short term, but much to Santana's frustration, did nothing to decrease the overall amount of tormenting Brittany faced.

One night when Brittany was particularly upset about something she'd said in math class and the open laughter and jeering that followed, Santana held her for hours, soothing her with intermittent light touches and tight hugs. Santana was fingering the bottom of Brittany's tank top, telling her for the hundredth time that night that _she_ was smart and _they_ were stupid for not getting her genius unicorn humor, when Brittany reached down and lifted the hem of her top with one hand, nudged Santana's hand underneath with the other. Brittany didn't say a word, just settled back into her previous position.

For a moment, Santana was frozen in place, her fingers still touching Brittany but her wrist bent upward, into the fabric of the tank top. _Move_, she urged her hand. Slowly, she flattened her palm again (Brittany's skin was so hot!) and tried not to give away her surprise by shaking.

She had thought she knew the gentle curve of Brittany's stomach, the divot of her belly button, from all the other times they'd lain just this way. But she felt like a veil had been lifted and she was only now touching them for the first time. Reminding herself to breathe, she danced her fingers in circles, rubbed her palm in long strokes.

When she accidentally moved too far and brushed the underside of Brittany's breast with the back of her hand, she just kept moving, thankful that though Brittany's breath hitched, she said nothing. It was an accident, she assured herself, but she was already lost again in the feel of Brittany's smooth skin, in the way a light touch brought up tiny hairs, and an even lighter one elicited a little giggle.

And, maybe she just hadn't been paying attention before, but she felt like she could smell Brittany in a new way too, like lifting the veil on one sense had opened the floodgates for the others. Citrusy body wash, vanilla shampoo, and a deeper, black cherry-damp earth smell washed over her, erasing everything else she'd been thinking.

She must have started breathing deeper, because soon she noticed Brittany was too, and then they were breathing together, in and out. In, out. Brittany found her hand and held it, pinned against her own stomach.

"I love you, Santana." Brittany's words were hushed, and fuzzy around the edges.

"I love you too. Sweet dreams." Their old, familiar good night sounded louder now, more poignant. Maybe because Santana could feel the words resonate in the hollow of Brittany's chest against her own.

Santana still felt too keyed up to sleep, so she kept matching Brittany's breaths with her own, as Brittany's slowed and deepened with slumber. Her mouth hovered, slack and soft, over Brittany's back, breathing heat into Brittany's relaxing muscles with every tandem breath. When she was sure Brittany was asleep, Santana allowed her lips to solidify and land on Brittany's bare shoulder blades in quiet, stolen kisses.


End file.
